


The French Maid Persuasion

by applebuckets



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bottom Russia, Comedy, Crossdressing, F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applebuckets/pseuds/applebuckets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She might have read his mind as she turned to him. 'This may be a surprise to you, to learn this especially from me. But I love my Brother, more than anything in the world, and I would do what it takes to make sure he is happy and back to himself.' She gulped with great difficulty, as if swallowing glass shards. 'Even if it means asking for your help...'"</p><p>Belarus enlists America to put a smile back on Russia's big-nosed face. By wearing French maid dresses. He would have said no, but try telling that to a maniac with a knife. That and playing the hero card.</p><p>Being a hero is hard. It's hard, and nobody understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you happy to see me? No? All right.

**Author's Note:**

> (( Hello. This is an un-beta'd fic, so please bear with me. This was originally supposed to be a gift fic for a friend years ago (goes by the name of Onikotsu). Of course, I couldn't complete it at the time and I kept slacking on it. I believe she may no longer be interested in this fandom. But after digging this up, I decided to press on and get this finished. So if you're out there, sorry for the lateness of it all, but this is for you Oni. ))

 

 

It started with Belarus scaring the living bejeesus out of him at the UN, jumping on the young blonde nation as he rounded the corner with a knife and a terrifying expression. The look on her face chilled him so much to the bone that even Russia would be so proud of her if only he didn't avoid her due to his immense fear of her and her insistence on marrying him.

 

The McDonald's cup that used to be filled of delicious Coke now lay on the ground, spilling its contents like blood from a slain victim. His suitcase had spiraled away from the scene of the crime, a wall had since stopped it from careening further to possibly be a tripping hazard for unsuspecting humans or nations. There were harsh breathing from America, who clutched his chest and stilling his thundering heart, mingling in with the soft panting of Belarus, who is eyeing the nation with a manic gleam in her eye. The knife seemed to glint under the lights in response. _What the fuck_.

 

"Holy c-crap, Bela... what was that for?"

 

Belarus crept closer, the knife jutting out dangerously from her outstretched hands. America pedaled back instantly, raising both hands. "Hey hey! Easy there! What did I do?!?"

 

Belarus frowned at him and followed his line of sight down to her knife. "Ah..." She exclaimed softly, as if seeing it for the first time. She quickly hid the hand holding the knife behind her. Just a second later the same hand came up to her front, the weapon now gone. _What the fuck!?_ America gaped at the sleight of hand, his eyes looking down at the folds of her skirt, mind attempting to figure out the trick or how she could have hid something that large.

 

A clearing of someone's throat brought his attention back up, with Belarus staring at him with a glare, though it softened just a tiny fraction. "There is something important we must discuss, America." Her eyes darted around suspiciously, beckoning him to follow. "Come, I know a room we can continue this privately." She paused slightly, then glared back at America. "And do not call me Bela."

 

"Hey, wait a minute! How about letting me in first on what's goin- okayI'mcoming." America lamely finished his statement as the knife reappeared in her hand.

 

With a graceful twist, she walked off ahead, leaving America to lament the passing of his Coke and to retrieve his other belongings.

 

He trotted after her, clutching his scuffed suitcase. Eventually they both arrived in a room, with Belarus closing the door behind them. The clicking sounds of a lock echoed loudly. The aura of dread seemed to magnify ten times, with America drowning in it realizing he's alone in a room with a knife-wielding maniac.

 

Despite America boasting an incredible strength, he still upholds the heroic motto to never hit a lady. And even if Belarus was dangerous than a busload of terrorists, he still saw her as a lady. (And it had nothing to do with him simply being scared shitless of her crazy ass. No siree.) With slumped shoulders, he grudgingly admitted minor defeat. "Okay... what do you want?"

 

Belarus hummed slightly as she moved towards the window, her fingers caressing the sharp end of her knife. America fidgeted, shuffling from one feet to another, watching her cautiously with a tense body, preparing himself in case she lunged at him with an attack. The minutes passed by slowly. Just as he was about to ask again, Belarus finally spoke.

 

"Dear Brother... he is not feeling well. No, that is not right. He is physically fit, but otherwise he looks... unhappy."

 

America blinked for several moments. "Uh... okay?"

 

Belarus dismissed the blatant disregard for Russia and plowed on. "He has not been himself lately. Though he tries to hide it-- my sweet brave Brother --it seems to becoming much worse, to the point he would show several moments of vulnerability without him realizing it..."

 

America rubbed the back of his head, feeling a little guilty from his earlier response. Though he found it odd that Belarus would come to him about Russia. He would think out of anyone who was close to the big guy, it would be Ukraine to be the one spilling the beans, what with the eldest sister being a lot more friendly to America. And what was strange was that Belarus was trusting _him_ of all nations to know about it. It's not like he would take advantage of Russia-- he's a hero, after all! But he knew Belarus was carrying some hostility against America, not one to let go of a grudge from the events that happened during the Cold War.

 

She might have read his mind as she turned to him. "This may be a surprise to you, to learn this especially from me. But I love my Brother, more than anything in the world, and I would do what it takes to make sure he is happy and back to himself." She gulped with great difficulty, as if swallowing glass shards. "Even if it means asking for your help..."

 

"My help?" America spoke out, surprised. "I mean.. I don't mind helping. Heroes always lend a hand to those in need!" His wide grin slowly slipped as Belarus stared at him hard, as if boring a hole into him. "Um.. just... wondering why would you pick me..."

 

"I know of your country's attempts to re-establish the friendship you once have with my Brother. It would be fitting and beneficial for all of us if you help with my plans..." Her eyes seemed to roll when she spoke the next sentence. "And as you said, a hero such as yourself would be glad to aid us."

 

Oh, she got him there. It wasn't that he didn't want to help Russia (It'll be good for the world if they became friends, right? After all, he could always rub it in on his face later!), but working WITH Belarus? He glanced back at her, seeing her terrifying expression. She seemed angry that she had to ask for his help, since he suspected she had always thought he and Russia would be more than just rivals during the Cold War. It was weird when others would even so much as hint that something much more was going on. (As if! Who would like that big-nosed, macho man creeper?). But if Belarus herself came forward to him to ask for help, then maybe Russia's really in a bad slump...

 

Sighing (and knowing deep down in the pit of his stomach that he may regret it), he rumpled his hair, Nantucket bobbing up again undeterred. "Okay, I'll help you out." He winced inwardly at the next words. "Tell me what I need to do."


	2. The Real Russian Blues. More than a song. And not about cats.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "America chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, before the hand reached to scratch his hair. 'Well, shoots. We're in a pickle here, aren't we?'
> 
> Belarus raised an eyebrow. 'I am not sure what you are meaning by pickles, but it seems you are out of ideas.' At this moment, he saw a glint in her eyes and he gulped in response.
> 
> 'Er.. I take it you do?'"

 

 

Crouching underneath some spiky bushes and spying on Russia sitting on a park bench was not what America had in mind when he said that.

 

"This isn't what I had in mind when I said that." America spoke his thoughts out loud, huffing and bashing away haplessly at a particularly annoying branch that refused to stop poking him. Belarus was right beside him, gazing longingly at Russia. He had to shake his head, already feeling the pangs of regret creeping in. But heroes never give up!

 

"Why are we here?" America whined, hearing the hiss of the nation next to him followed by deep panting. It sounded to him oddly like the heavy breathing of a killer calling unsuspecting teenagers on their home phones in the movies. He fought the shudder and moved closer to Belarus. "Belaaa... come on, I got some twig wanting to poke my eye out and you know, this is really kind of creepy..."

 

He couldn't suppress the shudder this time when Belarus instantly turned to him with a horrifying look. "...please don't hurt me." He meekly croaked out.

 

She quickly turned her attention away from the shaking America back to Russia. "Before we begin, you must see for yourself how dire the situation is."

 

America squinted at Russia and tried to see anything different from his usual self. So far, nothing. Just big-nosed Russia sitting on a bench. Feeding crumbs to little birds. But when he started to look harder, he could see the slight sunken eyes, the lips that were trying hard not to show a frown, the pallor of his already pale skin. And instead of the usual straight rigidness of his body he's used to seeing from him, there was a weary slump of the shoulders, the way the arms hang lifeless at his sides. A look of sadness just resonating from him. Just one giant depressed teddy bear.

 

Oh. great. Now he feels guilty about making light of the situation. Even though Russia can be a huge pain in the ass, he didn't like seeing him in this state either.

 

"Okay... I think I see what you mean." America turned to the side and saw Belarus scrutinizing him so intently as if she's trying to gaze through the very core of his soul. Or gut him alive. He couldn't really tell. And didn't want to know. "All right, you know what? I'm all game. Let's get crackin' on getting Russia feel all better."

 

Shuffling away from the bushes, America crawled away until he could get up and walk without Russia noticing him, Belarus just right behind his heels. Crossing his arms, his brows furrowed as he pondered. "We could get him something. Like food. Food always makes me feel better. How about a cake? With vodka on the side. Oh wait: a vodka-cake! Like rum cake, only with vodka! How cool is that?" He turned to Belarus with open arms and a wide smile.

 

"A mere cake will not help cheer Brother."

 

"How would you know?" America pouted, looking like a petulant child.

  
"Because Ukraine had given him his favorite sweets already, and yes- one of them is a cake. But it still did not work, as you can see." Belarus replied, not caring to the deflated look America gave at the answer.

 

"Oh. Did you try just giving him straight vod-"

 

"Yes."

 

Crap. America crossed his arms again as he wracked his brain with things he knew Russia would like.

 

"Ooh, we could take him to that fancy shmancy ballet thing-"

 

"We have attended two ballet performances for the past three weeks."

 

"...Okay. What about hockey? Canada sometimes likes to play it when letting off some steam and Russia's kinda big on-"

 

"Ukraine have suggested that before and knew someone who could help. Dearest Brother played marvelously last week. However, I do not recall with whom..."

 

"Oh, he did?"

 

Belarus nodded, briefly attempting to recall the name but decided it must be of no importance.

 

American then snapped his fingers. "I know how! Sunflowers! The dude's crazy about them, right? I can get him down to Kansas this weekend-"

 

"He has been there. Two weeks ago. He was with you, along with your respective presidents."

 

"...Oh yeaaah..." America blinked, the event slowly coming into memory. He remembered Russia asking him specifically for it, to visit a sunflower field, and in lieu of rebuilding of their friendship, America agreed to it instantly, along with the president. He also remembered having to leave early from there to attend an issue with one of his states, but he knew Russia's visit wasn't cut short because of it so he couldn't find a reason why the sunflowers didn't help at all.

 

America chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, before the hand reached to scratch his hair. "Well, shoots. We're in a pickle here, aren't we?"

 

Belarus raised an eyebrow. "I am not sure what you are meaning by pickles, but it seems you are out of ideas." At this moment, he saw a glint in her eyes and he gulped in response.

 

"Er.. I take it you do?"

 

She looked at him with a glare as if offended at the gall of America even hinting she was not prepared for this. "Of course. After running out of other measures to cheer dear Brother, I have noticed he was spending quite some time on his computer. With Estonia's help, we found... this."

 

Belarus handed him several pieces of paper, all folded together, with a grave look on her face. America wasn't sure where she had them hidden before, but took the paper anyway.

 

"Um... are you sure you are supposed to be giving me this?"

 

She scoffed. "It is not something that will jeopardize the national security of my brother and his country, if you are even suggesting that. Why would I blindly hand you sensitive information such as that?"

 

"Oh."

 

Belarus sighed, as if dealing with a slow person. "These contain information to what his latest interests lay, and something we could use to our advantage."

 

"Oh... oh! Okay." America replied, unfolding the papers slowly. He tried to hide it, but he was shaking inside. He wasn't sure from what, maybe he was giddy to know another secret of Russia. When he finally unfolded the papers, what he saw was...

 

"Huh..."

 

There was a large pause before America looked at Belarus, who merely stared back, then he switched his gaze back to the papers.

 

Or rather printed photos. Of what look like blue-eyed, blonde girls in French maid outfits in provocative and risque poses in varying states of undress.

 

"Huh." America remarked again, with slight disappointment. He had thought it would be something big, something juicy, as he flipped through the photos, the contents in them the same as the others. "Ooookay? So Russia likes to look at porn. What does this have got to do with us? Does he need money to get more or what?"

 

Belarus's left eye twitched. "Keep looking. You will see a recurring theme in them."

 

America frowned and continued to flip through the pictures, this time half of the images focusing on one girl in various poses. "Okay, so he really likes this one girl, I don't see what the big deal-"

 

He stopped and brought the photos closer.

 

Blond hair.

 

Blue eyes.

 

Hair pretty short, almost like a boy's.

 

 _With glasses_.

 

It suddenly clicked in his head and everything fell into creepy, not cool pieces. "Oh. My. God." America's eyes widened, before staring at Belarus who held an indescribable expression on her face. "This- I don't even- I think- No way!" He continued to flip through the photos until he restarted back to the beginning. "You don't mean-"

 

Belarus' eyes narrowed to a slit. "It seems he has an odd fixation for you, of all nations." Her noses scrunched up as her lips curled down to a frown. "...Although I cannot fathom why he would."

 

America shook his head vehemently. "Nuh uh. No way! Look, we might be trying to be buddy buddies but before that, your brother hates me! Hates my guts! Wanted to kill me for pete's sakes! This is just some.. freaky coincidence!"

 

His voice faltered when he saw Belarus wielding the large knife again, her fingers daintily running along the edge of it. How she hasn't cut herself at this point was what America wondered about, though in his mind, he was more focused on the fact she's looking at him with the crazy glint in her eyes again. With a big ass knife.

 

America swore the temperature must have gone down as a tense pause laid between them (frighteningly, since they're outside on a supposedly nice, sunny afternoon).

 

"You are saying I am a liar?"

 

"Er, n-no.. ahaha. No. Just- I just find it hard to belie-"

 

The knife was suddenly dangerously close, pointing at the pictures. He jumped and swallowed what would had been a not so manly scream. "That girl is an American. You wish to call it a coincidence once more?"

 

America clutched the pictures tightly, staring down at the knife. He gulped a little and tried to find his words to her liking, even though in his mind he was screaming 'Yes! YES! Are you even listening to what you're saying?! I feel like I'm taking crazy pills here!'

 

The knife was nudged just an inch closer towards him.

 

Fuck. "Um... no. No, I get it now."

 

Belarus withdrew the knife back to her. America relaxed, loosening his grip on the photos, but tensed once more as another puzzle piece clicked in his head. "Wait. What does this have to do with us helping Russia again?"

 

A feeling of dread crept up on him as he watched her eyes appraised his body over before fastening them to his own eyes.

 

"You will dress up like those girls you see in those photographs, to give cheer to my dearest Brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not mind the chapter names. It's just nonsensical garbledigook.


	3. My legs may be smooth as butter but a piece of me still dies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hungary waved her hand dismissively at him. 'Oh, do not worry your pretty little head on this, America--'
> 
> 'Please don't call me pretty.'
> 
> '--It is custom-made to your measurements, so it would definitely fit you!'
> 
> 'Oh, oka-waitWHAT?!?'"

 

 

"Hell no."  
  


That was what America said to Belarus, when she proclaimed he was going to wear a dress. _A French maid dress_. Just so Russia can cheer up with a stiffy upon seeing him in such a thing. Or laugh himself to death. One way or another. America bet on the latter, the image of Russia pointing at him popped in his head, doubling in laughter, with his other hand clutching his side painfully, before his fat, pale face turns blue and keel over.  
  


America would have called off working with Belarus, and do the "Operation Cheer Up That Big Ex-Commie Bastard" solo. Maybe buy Russia a puppy. Or a sunflower in a pot. Something to distract the big lug. Then he would hand his gift to Russia. And the cold nation would go back to his usual creepy, _happy_ self. And everyone will shower America with praises as they should be because he's the hero. He's the best! Just the best.  
  


The End.  
  


Unfortunately, what America did not count on was how scary-- batshit crazy scary --Belarus can get when rejected.   
  


It was like watching the nation transform into the Devil Incarnate himself, the sounds issuing forth from her twitching open mouth (that was forming a half-frown, half-smile) were akin to cats yowling, glass shattering, babies crying, and nails scratching on a chalkboard. Her eyes held promises, dark promises that she would kill America, bring him back to life, then kill him again, stabbing at his flesh until there was nothing left of his poor body.  
  


He swore to himself that the knife seem to have grown larger in size, glinting, as if to say "Why, hello there, ol' chap! I fancy stabbing you heartily through your stomach. Be a good lad and stay still, won't you? Cheerio!" (but it might have been his imagination. He could not explain why it would have a phony British accent, of all things).  
  


To prevent the world from feeling the wrath of Belarus (Nooo, it has nothing to do with him being scared! Nope! No siree, Bob!), America accepted her proposition like any selfless hero would (and would deny he did so with a pathetic whimper).  
  


And so, the heroic nation found himself several days after that horrifying demonic episode fidgeting on the sofa couch of Russia's hotel room, while three female nations busied themselves around his bed with bags upon bags of... he couldn't tell, but he had a sinking suspicion one of them contained his... ugh, maid outfit. Belarus had requested (Ha! More like blackmailed) the Baltic nations to take Russia out earlier, giving them plenty of time to dress up and plan a surprise whatever it is for the big guy.  
  


Now, he knew why Belarus would be here. After all, it was her plan and she insisted-- no, _demanded_ \--to participate in her crazy scheme of hers along with him, so there would be two odd-looking French maids to prance around Russia. Yeah, okay.  
  


He could understand why Ukraine would be here, as well. Because 1.) She's their eldest sister, so she'd want to know what's going on and 2.) From what he could see by observing several White House staff and the civilians he would work with when he tries to do odd jobs at times, girls just likes to do stuff together. Maybe this is just one of those things they could do their girly chats and proceed with their girly, sisterly bonding of the sorts. Whatever, he's fine with it. Ukraine is nice enough that she won't be tittering and giggling to tease him when he put on the dress and show once and for all why you should NOT dress up America like a girl. Because it'd look fucking weird (and it's not manly, damnit).  
  


What he couldn't understand was why in the hell Hungary was here. He didn't even think that Russia's sisters ever talk to Hungary at all, but maybe because there's not that many female nations around, so they have to stick together. Was that it?   
  


"Hello, America? Hellooo~!"  
  


America blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He stared blankly at Hungary, who had a small smirk on her face.   
  


"Are we daydreaming, America? Ooh, you must tell me what you are thinking about now..." There was a twinkle in her eye, and it didn't look like she was coming on to him. _More like trying to pry open his brain and see what secrets he has_. He cringed.  
  


"Uh... no. No. Was just thinking. Look, no offense here, but uh... why are you here?"   
  


Hungary giggled as Belarus sighed, reaching into one of the bags to pull out an apron. Ukraine, upon noticing the apron, cooed and took it off from her hands, placing it on the bed as she laid out the dresses. "She is here, because she is the one who helped procuring the necessary outfits." Belarus replied, digging once again into the bag.  
  


"Huh. Okay." America wrinkled his nose, not liking the idea that, aside from Russia and Belarus, two more people know he'll be crossdressing for the enjoyment of someone who was supposed to want nothing more than to bash his skull with a pipe. "How do we even know the dress will fit me?  
  


Hungary waved her hand dismissively at him. "Oh, do not worry your pretty little head on this, America--"  
  


"Please don't call me pretty."  
  


"--It is custom-made to your measurements, so it would definitely fit you!"  
  


"Oh, oka-waitWHAT?!?"  
  


"Yes?" Hungary turned to him, a piece of frilly, lacy, see-through panties dangling between her two hands. His mind momentarily blanked out as some of his manhood die, wishing with all hopes that the thing wasn't for him, as his brain scrambled to figure out a piece of information that was just uttered earlier.  
  


"How- what- I don't even- How do you even know my measurements?!"  
  


A secretive smile blossomed on her face and her eyes winked at him. "I have my ways~!" She tittered.  
  


"Oh god, are you stalking me?"  
  


Hungary pouted, placing her hands on her hips. "Now, America, you make it sound so terrible! And it's not just your measurements. I have the other nations', too!"  
  


What. "I.. I don't think I want to know..." America placed his head on his hands, elbows on his knees, trying not to reel from the information, while Hungary tried to placate Belarus that she does not have her brother's.  
  


Ukraine clapped her hands together to gain all their attention. "We should focus! They'll be returning soon! Now, sister, come help me with the rest of these bags." She turned to Hungary. "His dress should be ready, we just need to find the rest for little Sister."

  
Hungary clasped her hands, letting out a small squeal and swiveled fast to face America with a wide smile. America felt another piece of his manhood wilting away. With a heavy sigh, he shakily stood from the couch as Hungary took his hand and led his reluctant self towards the bathroom to change. "I'll hand you the items piece by piece until I have to come help you put on the rest." She whispered breathlessly to him, obviously more excited that she should be. America chalked it up to Hungary liking to play dress up dolls. With men. _No wonder Austria looks so girly_.  
  


Once inside, America removed his clothing with a scowl, especially when he looked down at his hairless legs and manly bits. He had to undergo a painful waxing experience a few days ago, bribed with a certificate of getting a free McDonald's burger meal for a month. Though he had to admit, as he ran his hands through his leg, it did feel extra smooth and nice. It still was a hit to his manliness, damnit!  
  


"America?" Hungary cracked open the door, making him jump back in defense to hide his naked self.  
  


"Jesus on a cracker! Knock first!" He almost shrilled.  
  


"I'm sorry, America. See? I'm not opening it up all the way! I'm just going to hand you the things through here." Her hand appeared through the narrow space between the door and the wall, dangling a... wait.  
  


" _What?!_   No! I'm not wearing that! Can't I just wear my boxers? _Please?_ " America pleaded, eyeing the lacy, frilly, see-through panties like it contained a disease.  
  


"Oh, no no no! We must have everything just perfect, America! You cannot back down now!"  
  


"But it won't fit me! That's a girl's!"  
  


"Oh, but look!" Her other hand appeared to fully stretch it to view. He finally noticed something hanging from the center. "See? It has a pouch so you can place your... oh, what did you call it... your Florida! It is made specifically for men, America, so please wear it!"   
  


America blushed deeply as he scowled, before snatching it from her hands. "FINE!"  
  


With a soft giggle, the hands disappeared. America looked down at the supposedly lacy men panties, and gulped audibly, feeling his whole ears and cheeks flushed. He gingerly put on the underwear, carefuly placing himself in the pouch, and looked at the mirror. He blushed even harder, looking away as he covered himself instinctively. "A-all right... let's get this over with."  
  


"You have it on?"  
  


"YES! Let's just get a move on to the next one, okay?"  
  


The black thigh-high stockings came next, which America had some difficulty trying it on at first. Then the frilly white petticoat. It looked short before he wore it, and even shorter once he had it on. Soon came the shoulderless white blouse, and the short black dress.   
  


"We're not done yet, America, but I will need you to come out for the next part." Hungary piped up. "Just tell me whenever you're ready."  
  


America grumbled. "Yeah, well, I think you're going to need to help me close the gap on the back of this dress anyway..." He then grimaced, wishing a hole on the ground would just open up and swallow him now so he can never show his face again. He doesn't want to get out of this bathroom.  
  


But he has to.

 

Because he's...  
  


He's...  
  


"I'm the hero." America mumbled childishly, knowing he had plenty of chances to back out before. Being a hero is hard. It's hard, and nobody understands.  
  


"What did you say?"  
  


"Nothing... I'm coming out!" America hollered, picking up his clothes. He took a deep, shaky breath and tried hard to ignore the blush now threatening to overwhelm his face. With a resigned exhale, he straightened his shoulders and pulled the door open.  
  


He can do this. He's the hero. He's the best! Just the best.  
  


Or so he thought.  
  


"Hey, Hungary... I'm gonna need help with the dre--Oh _HELL NO_!"  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating will be bumped when I upload the next batch of chapters later on.


	4. Pump up your brakes, kid. That man's a national treasure.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'You are right. It wouldn't do any good to squish your plump stomach into this... That would hurt, wouldn't it? Oh, listen to me. All this afternoon and I never bothered to think you were feeling bloated.'
> 
> America's right eye twitched.
> 
> 'You calling me fat?'"

 

 

"America, don't be so dramatic." Hungary said in an exasperated tone, dropping what she was holding to the bed and approaching him. Giving him once a look over of his dress, she dragged him further out by the couch while Ukraine and Belarus took his place in the bathroom. He was still sputtering when she turned him around to work on closing up the black dress. "Honestly, aren't you overacting just a little too much?"  
  


Buh. _No!_ This was not what he signed up for! America glared at the death trap lying in wait on Russia's hotel bed, the one Hungary earlier dropped before getting to him. He only agreed to wear the dress. Nothing else! Besides, how can that contraption fit around his body when it's supposed to be for a feminine figure?! And didn't some of the gals he hung with back in the days kept complaining to him how they were always short on breath with that on? What business has that stupid... _thing_ got to do with America's manly, macho, ripped torso?!?  
  


"No." He simply said, lips thinning in a grim line once she finished with his dress and skipped over to the bed to grab the corset.  
  


"Hmm?" There was a slyness in her tone as she approached him slowly.  
  


" _No_." America crossed his arms, lips in a deep frown. He glared hard at the corset, hoping with all of his might his eyes would become like Superman's and burn the offending item into a glorious laser dust death.  
  


Hungary gave him an encouraging smile, using one hand to hold the corset up while the other caressed the surface. "It would look so sexy on you! And feel it. The texture feels good to the touch."  
  


" ** _No_**." America repeated, face grimacing. "That thing isn't gonna fit on me."  
  


"Oh! But you see. This is actually for m--"  
  


Hungary squeaked mid-sentence as America suddenly held up his palm, signalling her to stop. "Sweetheart, I don't care. I don't care if it's for men, or if it's custom-made, or if it feels like fucking velvet. I just don't care. Look, not even if Clint Eastwood himself tried it on, sweated in them, so it will be dripping in his manly musk which you can't help but reminisce of the good ol' Western pioneering days... "

  
"...what?"  
  


"I still won't do it." America finished and put on his effective serious business face on. "It's a no, Hungary. I am not trying the corset on."  
  


She blinked at him several times in silence, clutching the corset in front of her. America re-crossed his arms and kept staring at her, showing that he will not back down.  
  


Eventually she gave a little soft sigh, lowering the corset slightly as she looked visibly deflated.  
  


"Oh... I suppose I cannot force you into it."  
  


He didn't budge from his stance, no matter how saddened she look. It's his manly pride on the line, after all (never mind the fact he's wearing a dress).  
  


"You are afraid, so there is no sense in trying, yes? I can understand how this can be _scary_ to you."  
  


Nope. He's not going to give in. She's just trying to get him from a different angle, that's all. Nice try, better luck next time!  
  


Hungary lifted the corset to hide her lips from view, mostly to hide the smirk that threatened to erupt from her face as she pointedly look at his stomach before quickly glancing away.  
  


"You are right. It wouldn't do any good to squish your plump stomach into this... That would hurt, wouldn't it? Oh, listen to me. All this afternoon and I never bothered to think you were feeling _bloated_."  
  


America's right eye twitched.  
  


"You calling me fat?"  
  


Hungary shook her head with too much gusto. "Oh, no! I would not call you names, America. I mean, I understand when at times we might put on a little _more_ weight, especially at these stressing times... it's normal!" She turned around dramatically, pausing for effect, before dropping the big one. "I suppose... I could have Russia try this instead later on. At least it would _fit_."  
  


Hungary counted to three seconds before the corset was yanked from her hands. "Hah! Are you kidding me? Russia's gonna break this like it's wet toilet paper. I'm more fit than him and I can prove to you that I ain't no fat!"  
  


She clapped excitedly, then throwing a fist up in the air for good measure. "Yes, that's the spirit! You will show Russia who is the boss!" (Who says you can't learn a phrase or two from a Prussian?)  
  


"Fuck yeah!"  
  


_Too easy_. Hungary thought as she fussed at America, wrapping the corset around him while giving an encouraging word or two when he looked ready to back out. A black choker was strategically placed to hide his Adam's apple, and she helped him with his pumps. He was becoming a lovely thing, she just can't wait to see them in action!  
  


"Jesus Christ, I'm gonna break my fucking ankles with this thing." America gasped, straining against the corset with his panicky breathing and wobbled towards the couch. Out of pity, Hungary quickly joined his side and held his arm, leading him to his seat.

  
"Just relax. Now, sit still... back straight, chin up. Close those eyelids for me, dear." Hungary crooned, taking his glasses off his face and gingerly placing them on the couch. Her makeup supplies were already laid out next to him on the seat so she began to work on the finishing touches on his face.   
  


America wondered if he should bother to ask. He knew it would be a lost cause. But he still wanted to. "Do we really gotta do the make up, too? I thought it was just going to be dress up. Not the whole nine yards!"  
  


"Do not speak. We're on a time limit."  
  


_Fuck_. America wanted to scream out, but kept his lips closed like a good hero he is.  
  


Minutes passed by, and America wanted to fidget so much, uncomfortable by the silence. He was already scolded earlier for his jittery movements. But sitting straight was starting to cramp his back. It didn't help that when he tried to slouch, the damn corset kept reminding him that it was not a good idea. Then again, the way Hungary was brushing his cheeks and painting on his eyelids... it felt somewhat nice (but it will be a cold day in Hell before he'll do this again). Every now and then, she would ask him to open his eyelids and she'd make a noncommittal sound, but for the most part he had his eyes closed.  
  


He heard a door opening, and the excited, adoring voice of Ukraine rang in the air. Hungary paused for a moment, giving a glowing praise to Belarus, before he felt her loomed over him again to continue with her work.  
  


"Hmmm... almost done. Give us a moment, America. Let me just take this..." Something was placed on top of his head, gingerly being settled in. Next were his glasses carefully sliding onto his face before he felt a whoosh of air when Hungary pulled back away from him.  
  


"Perfect! Open your eyes~~!"  
  


America slowly blinked, adjusting to the light. He sought out the ladies before him, seeing Hungary and Ukraine first before landing his sights on Belarus.

  
Wow.  
  


She looked... beautiful. Well, Belarus was always beautiful (if only she wasn't so batshit crazy at the same time). But this time, she looked more... enticing. Gorgeous. She had her long hair draped tastefully around her shoulders, while still showing some of that lovely pale skin, and a cute ruffled headpiece atop of her. He reached to touch the top of his head and realized he must have the same thing. Their outfits were almost identical, and he was pretty impressed by the work on the details. She might even grab Russia's attention for much longer this time, for once! She was positively drop dead gorgeous, and she rocked that tight dress, complete with a coy look.   
  


"Damn, Bela! You look good enough to eat! You sure you wanna do this with Russia?"  
  


Of course, his boner and big fat mouth's going to turn her into the banshee that everyone knows and love( _hate_ ).  
  


But before Belarus' face can morph into a nightmarish expression, Ukraine made a loud sound and held her palm up almost close to her sister's face.  
  


" _Nyet_! Control it, _sestra_! Remember what we discussed earlier. It is those faces that frighten baby Brother so! If you wish to be a success, do not ruin that look!" Whoa. Who knew Ukraine could be so bossy? She had her finger lifting Belarus' chin up, while the younger sister actually looked guilty.  
  


Hungary nodded in agreement before rounding on him. "And you, America. No more of those crazy remarks. If you really want to help... genuinely help Belarus, you would have to act as if you have a brain.  
  


"Hey!"   
  


"And be sexy! You already have the looks, you just also have to sound you ooze sex appeal and not ruin everything I have worked for!"  
  


He pouted, wrenching the ends of his skirt, which earned a swat on the hand from her. "Ow! I can be serious if I want to. After all, I got Hollywood!"  
  


Hungary smiled in a patronizing manner, patting the side of his hair daintily. "There you go. Now, do you want to see how you look like?"  
  


America hesitated. "... I don't know. I'm not so sure if it's a good idea or if it'll make things worse."  
  


But he still allowed Hungary to lead him to the bathroom, using the excuse of helping him practice on walking with his heels on. Once he stepped inside, he felt a wave of dread wash over him, fearing what he would see. Like a horrible clown face. Or a drag queen reject. Or his whole getup is just so comical and awful, either Russia will truly die from laughter, or his dick would fall off in sheer disgust. Steeling himself, he looked up at the mirror.  
  


He gasped a little, eyes widening behind his glasses. He slowly turned to his side as he stayed glued to his own reflection, his mouth still hanging open. Behind him, Hungary was feeling tense from anticipation, wondering what America must be thinking, fearing the worst. Thinking he'd cry and his makeup will be runny all over and there's just no time to fix it. Or he'd get angry and stomp away and now she won't have the footage she needs. Or...  
  


" _Dayum_! I look pretty damn good in this thing!" America whooped at his reflection, striking a pose and running his hands from his thighs up to the curve of his buttocks, bunching up the skirt and the petticoats.   
  


Hungary clasped her hand, smile wide and eyes closing in bliss as she sent thanks to any god for granting America a gigantic ego.  
  


America's fingers flew to touch the corset's texture ( _oh wow it's so sooooft_ ) and marveled how it gave a definite curve to his waist, but still upholding the rest of his manly features. He leaned slightly forward, admiring that his makeup was not garish at all, but just enough to bring that lovely blush to his face and make his blue eyes pop. He didn't look like a man trying to fit into a French maid dress. It was more like the dress was made for a man good enough to pull it off. Well... Hungary did mention several times it was custom-made... damn that talented bitch!  
  


_Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard._   
  


"Did you say something?"  
  


Oops. "Nothing! But holy tamole, Hungary... look, I know I was bitching a whole lot earlier, but I really gotta hand it to you now... you did _fantastic_!"  
  


"I take it you like it~?" Hungary sang.  
  


America paused for a moment, then continued to check himself out in the mirror. "I mean... I'm not gonna do this again, don't get me wrong. And I still don't like going about this way just to cheer up some big gloomy gus... " He then swiveled his hips in a tantalizing manner, and Hungary felt like swooning there and then (though likely swooning to images of America dancing to a sexually charged, ravenous audience). "But how can I look so manly and handsome.. and so feminine and stunning at the same time?"  
  


Hungary fanned herself, nodding absently. "Oh, America, please stop with the praises, but thank you! I couldn't help it... the artist in me was just bursting for sweet release." A secretive smile crept on her face. "And I'm sure the three of you will be bursting soon..." She murmured under breath.  
  


"You say something?"  
  


"Nothing!"


	5. For 450 Rubles, you can have your very own Ivan sandwich! Condiments not included.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Release me! I can still hurt you!' She screeched, launching her body forward to him with her nails stretched out, ready to claw at him.
> 
> 'God fucking damnit! Get ahold of yourself, woman!' America screamed, forcing her arms apart to put a distance between her hands and to his face. 'Stop struggling and let me explain before Russia comes back and the whole plan goes to bust!'"

 

 

"I think Ukraine and I should be leaving now!" Hungary exclaimed, ignoring the questioning look from America and rushed out of the bathroom to gather her belongings. Ukraine already had cleaned up the majority of them, ensuring the room was exactly how Russia left it. The busty nation moved slowly to Belarus and whispered words in a loving tone. She patted her younger sister's shoulders before placing a quick peck on her cheek.  
  


Upon seeing America, Ukraine rushed up to him and also placed a quick peck on his cheek. "Oh, you two are very lovely. Take good care of my siblings. Please have fun with them! They are nice! They really are!"   
  


America thought that Ukraine was a very nice sister too, she really was. And she may have her heart in the right place, but... _You're just making things a lil' suspicious when you say it like that, Ukraine_.  
  


"We'll make sure Russia's alone when he arrives." There was a gleam in Hungary's eyes as they trailed around the room, that damn secretive smile still on her face. For a brief paranoid moment, America looked around as if the room may be bugged.  
  


The two nations waved goodbye and retreated to somewhere else, and Belarus closed the door, making sure to lock it.  
  


Silence fell in the room until America cleared his throat. "So, I think we should make a plan on how we'll surprise your bro." He made the trek to the couch, glad that he's able to at least not wobble like a newborn foal. "Oh, wow. Hungary really went all out." He noticed two feather dusters on the seat, and he brushed his fingers to feel how soft they were.  
  


"Yes, she is a very resourceful friend." Belarus commented. Her eyes flickered to the bed. "Perhaps you should loosen yourself before Brother arrives." She flipped her hair casually as she continued. "Of course, he would still break you, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make for the sake of his happiness."  
  


Belarus narrowed her eyes slightly when America chose to reply with a loud and irritating guffaw. He held his sides, doubling over in laughter, and it took him awhile before he settled down. He patted his face, making sure nothing was out of place before giving Belarus a fake toothy grin.  
  


"Wow! Belarus... I never knew you were so funny."  
  


Her eyes narrowed just a tad more. "...What is so funny?"  
  


America tilted his head, the fake grin still plastered on his face. "That joke you made about Russia fucking me."  
  


Belarus forgot the lessons Ukraine tried to drill into her earlier and started hissing, her face scrunching up. "What are you implying..."

  
"Oh, sweetheart." That syrupy, condescending tone was starting to grate on her nerves. "No one's shoving anything back there. If anything, it'll be Russia who's getting his ass fucked."  
  


"Why, you little-" She reached behind her, fingers grasping through thin air only to realize she left her knives to Ukraine. Her eyes darted towards the dusters sitting innocently on the couch. She can already imagine them begging her to use them. ' _Pick me! Pick me! I can still give him splinters!_ '   
  


Her body moved to lunge for the items, but America must have seen her looking at her potential weapons and managed to grasped her wrists, stopping her altogether.  
  


"Ha! Your knives can't save you anymore!"  
  


"Release me! _I can still hurt you!_ " She screeched, launching her body forward to him with her nails stretched out, ready to claw at him.  
  


"God fucking _damnit_! Get ahold of yourself, woman!" America screamed, forcing her arms apart to put a distance between her hands and to his face. " _Stop struggling_ and let me explain before Russia comes back and the whole plan goes to bust!"  
  


He practically hollered at her face, and he worried she would continue to fight, but the threat of ruining the plan made her cease her fussing. Her eyes were still glaring as if to bore a hole through his skin, but at least it was just that and nothing sharp. Just to make sure she didn't had any crazy ideas, he still kept his hold on her wrists, albeit a little gentler this time.  
  


Taking a deep breath, America thought the best way to handle this and the right words to get across. "Look, obviously you're dolled up like I am because you want to be here with me when Russia comes, right?"  
  


It was several seconds later before she muttered a response. "...yes."  
  


"And since you're here with me, that means we're seducing Russia _together_ , right?"  
  


"Yes!"  
  


"And since we'll be seducing the pants off Russia, you wanna _ride_ that big dick, right?"  
  


" _Yes!_ "  
  


America leveled his face to her as he raised an eyebrow. "Then how are you going to get his dick in you, if he's buttfucking me?"  
  


Belarus opened her mouth to answer but froze, unable to reply.  
  


Then... "...we take turns?"  
  


America stared at her for awhile then squinted. "Are you really just gonna stand on the side and watch him take my sweet ass for a ride while nothing's being done to you?"  
  


He sent a happy prayer to the glorious baby Jesus at the crestfallen look on Belarus' face. "...You are right. That would be idiotic." America released her wrists, inwardly giving himself a high five.   
  


She briefly bit her lower lip, coming to a decision, before she sent a steely gaze at  him. "I concede. You will take Brother from behind. But you will be gentle! You so much as hurt him _I will carve the anguish into your flesh_ \--"  
  


"It would be like he's riding a mall kiddy ride: sweet and slow." America promised, and tried very hard not to shudder. Taking a deep breath, he moved to take the feather dusters and handed one to Belarus, feeling safe enough that she won't use it on him. "Well, we oughta figure how we're going to surprise Russia before he gets in, so we won't look like chickens with their heads cut off."  
  


Belarus composed herself, running her fingers through the feathers. "Simple. We should just lay on his bed in the usual provocative manner."  
  


America pondered it for a bit before shaking his head. "Nah. There's a chance he'd freak out and try to leave the room before he can even come closer." Twirling his own duster, he caught Belarus' raised eyebrow. "I say we get him from different sides. Like..."  
  


With a flourish of his duster, he used it to point at a corner. "I think you should be there, pretending to dust something. You bend over, and the first thing your bro sees would be your ass!"  
  


Belarus scoffed a little. "Do not be so crude." She still glided to the mentioned corner, but not bending over like he described. Like she would give him a free show, when Brother isn't even in the room to enjoy it.  
  


She did wonder...  
  


"You do not seem put off by this."  
  


"Really? I thought I was pretty adamant since the first time you told me-"  
  


Belarus waved her duster at him dismissively. "No, not that. You are not repulsed by my strong feelings for my brother."  
  


"Why should I?"  
  


Belarus blinked, a genuine surprise on her face. "...yes, why should anyone..." She murmured quietly.  
  


"I mean, I screw around with Matt!" America blurted out, cutting off her thoughts.  
  


"...who?"  
  


America blinked. "Oh, right. Matt's Canada."  
  


Belarus stared blankly at him.  
  


"He's... uh, the country up north of me?"  
  


"Ah..." Belarus thought he sounded familiar.  
  


Shrugging, America continued on. "Well, it's not like we're humans and should be bound by every customs they have. Plus, there's a bunch of them out there and not many of us nations. You get whatever comfort you can get from anyone... "  
  


Belarus tilted her head at America. "I think I may be seeing you in a new light, America. I made a good decision to come to you for help."  
  


"Awwww, that's so sweet, Bela!"  
  


"Do not ruin the moment. And do not call me Bela."  
  


America grinned warmly. "No worries, buttercup. All right, so like I was saying earlier, you stay here, and I'll be waiting in the bathroom that's close by the front door. When he gets in, make sure to get him hot and bothered so I can distract him from behind and we'll have a nice steamy, sexy Russian sandwich!"  
  


Belarus instantly stiffened, clutching the duster tightly.  
  


"Oh alright, calling it a Russian sandwich wasn't that great-"  
  


"Brother is coming." Belarus softly cut in, her eyes widening.  
  


"He is?!" America asked, forgetting to lower his voice and whipping his head head around to stare at the door. "How the fuck can you tell?"  
  


Belarus hissed and nudged him painfully. "Hide, hide! Before he opens the door!" She whispered in a low harsh tone.  
  


"All right, all right, I'm going!" America whispered back, muttering low under his breath as he rubbed the spot she was prodding at. He made sure to carefully walk to the bathroom in his high heels. Once inside, he closed the door but not completely shut, just enough so it looked close but still give him a better chance on opening it later without a sound.  
  


On the other side of the room, Belarus shivered with excitement, before turning gracefully around and bending over, a hand placed on the arm of the couch to help steady herself. She pretended to dust the knickknacks on the nearby side table, wiggling her body. Her toes curled in her heels when she heard the click of an opening lock and the swing of the door following after. Heavy footsteps padded on the tile floor. Her breath caught in her throat as the steps were finally approaching where she can be seen in plain sight and she heard that wonderfully deep, rumbling tone of his...  
  


" _...Chto?!?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( I predict maybe two more chapters to end this fic, which will include the actual smut part. And to those expecting it, please hang in there! ))


End file.
